Please Don't Go.

“No, no, I’ll change. I promise.”

She screamed the words at him. Pleading. Tears streaming down her face.

“You can’t fucking change. It’s just the way you are. I’ve had enough. It’s over.”

He stood in the hallway, small leather holdall in his hand.

“But we can work it out, we can. I’ll see someone, get help. Therapy or counselling or something. We can get through it, we can, we can!”

She grabbed the bag and tried to rip it from his grip. He pulled back, she lost her balance and fell to the floor. He looked down at her. She looked so desperate, so fragile, so helpless, so alone. So different from the woman who less than an hour ago had held a knife to his cheek because he’d come home from work thirty minutes later than usual. She’d kicked him hard in the shin and an egg sized swelling appeared in seconds. That’s when he’d run upstairs and packed a bag. They were two feet apart and he tried hard to control his temper. The words of truth came out almost in desperation.

“It’s too late. I can’t live like this any longer. You’re fucking Jekyll and Hyde. One minute okay and the next you’re, you’re a fucking nut case!”

She started to crawl towards him like a crab shuffling along the shore. She grabbed his leg and held on tight.

“Peter, please, please don’t leave me. I’m sorry about before, I just had a moment that’s all. You know I fly off the handle sometimes. But then we get better don’t we. We make up. We always make up.”

She was right. In their fifteen years together, he’d threatened to leave at least six times before but had never had the strength to say goodbye. It usually ended with them both in bed having “make up” sex. She would do anything in bed to please him. To get him to say “I love you” and make him promise he would never leave her.

The next few months would be okay. She’d call him during the day just to say “Hi”. She’d welcome him at the door when he came home from work. They’d cuddle on the settee night after night and he’d convince himself she’d changed. But something trivial would happen. Like the time a glass fell out of the cupboard and smashed on the floor. She screamed out loud, Blamed him for trying to cram too much in. Then she started to empty every glass in the cupboard, smashing them on the floor and shouting that it was all his fault. That time she picked up a piece of glass and rammed it into his hand. That time he had twelve stitches. That time he was lucky. There was another time when he wasn’t. He spent three weeks in hospital with broken ribs and a punctured lung. That time she drove the car at him and pinned him to the garage door. They’d been on there way to a restaurant and had to go back because he’d forgotten his wallet.

But this time was different. This time he had the strength to leave. Someone had given him that strength. Now there was another reason to leave. A good reason, a positive reason.  

She looked up at him. Her pink eyes wet and puffy.

“Come to bed Peter. Please my darling. Let’s go to bed. I’ll make you feel better. We’ll forget all this nonsense by the morning. Come to bed Peter. Please…”

He smiled at her and she let go of his leg.

The door slammed shut and there was silence. And at that moment her world disintegrated.

He heard screams and the breaking of glass from behind him as he quickly walked down the pathway. He turned left and ran to a parked car at the end of the road. The door opened and he got into the passenger seat.He turned to face  a women who was smiling at him.

"It's done. Let's go."